


we must reinvent (our) love

by sedonia



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Gen, Getting Back Together, M/M, Making Up, One Shot, Post-Split, Post-Split Panic! at the Disco, Sort Of, but he playing, cheesy title because why not anyways hope you enjoy, is feelings without plot a thing, it hurts a little at the beginning but it’s all for the angsty buildup u know, ryan thought they were homiesexual, since ryan convinced himself they weren’t together to begin with, this is really just a lot of ryan-centric introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 12:47:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25969933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sedonia/pseuds/sedonia
Summary: "It's been a while." His dark hair was falling across his forehead and there were dark bags under his eyes, but he was still a familiar sight. He looked older than the last time I had seen him; there were more lines in his face, showing the stress he had endured over the years. It showed why I left the band. Why I hadn't wanted to endure that stress. After all this time, I had nearly convinced myself that was the only reason I left.alternately: a post-split ryden make-up fic set in 2016.
Relationships: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
Kudos: 3





	we must reinvent (our) love

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted. originally posted to wattpad on oct. 12, 2016. uploaded here on aug. 18, 2020. so, if you’ve read this before: no, i didn’t plagiarize myself. heavily(?) edited from the original with slight changes in dialogue and fixing of inconsistent tenses. enjoy.
> 
> oh also if formatting is fucked i’ll fix it later bc it’s 2am and i’m too tired to fix it now.

**_July 2009_ **

_ "Jon and I are leaving the band." The words escaped my mouth easily, the practice having paid off. For months, I had been contemplating this decision. I knew it would hurt both Brendon and Spencer, but I couldn't stand being in the spotlight anymore. I couldn't stand being around Brendon Urie without being able to fulfill my desires. _

_ "W-what?" His voice cracked as he responded, his dark eyes flashing with confusion. I could tell he was hurt by my lack of discomposure. _

_ "Jon and I made this decision together. We both want to leave the band." I repeated, my voice remaining surprisingly monotonous. _

_ "Why?" It was a single word, but the ice lacing his tone brought a jolt to my chest. He had quickly gone from visibly sad to insurmountably angered, and the sudden mood swing scared me. It was something I had never seen from him before. Something I had never hoped to see brought out of him. His always bright light had vanished in that moment, and I felt almost dizzy at knowing I was the cause. _

_ "We've all been drifting. We've argued more times than I can count about what direction to take the music. Plus, it's not like the band ever really needed me or Jon." I said, still surprising myself due to my voice continuing to be void of emotion. How was I doing this? Knowingly breaking his heart while keeping my composure? _

_ "But what about us?" His voice sounded broken. It was cracking, and I could tell that he was on the brink of tears. _

_ "Just because we've fucked doesn't mean there's an us. There never was an 'us,' Brendon." My voice remained icy, though I knew that I would break down if I let the conversation drag on for much longer. The news had been delivered, even if he wasn't fully receptive of it. I was no longer Ryan Ross, lead guitarist of the famous band Panic at the Disco. Suddenly, by my own demise, I was just Ryan Ross--a normal guy who happened to play guitar and was also a  _ former _ member of Panic! At the Disco. _

_ "You can deny it all you want, Ryan, but that doesn't make the fact that there was something more between us any less true. It wasn't emotionless fucking." Brendon's voice was hard, and he was most definitely in denial. How he had yet to break down baffled me, and my chest hurt at the thought. His sudden sense of composure almost irked me in the way it contradicted the words he was saying. Did he truly believe there was more between us? Or was he saying these things in a desperate attempt to stop me from leaving? Knowing how things typically ended for me, it felt as if the answer was the latter.  _

_ "You can say whatever you want, Bren," my voice had begun to slightly waver, "but nothing is going to change my decision. It's already been made. We already told the label. We're leaving, and that's final." _

_ "You've been hiding this from me? From Spencer, your best fucking friend?" His eyes were swelling with tears, and his voice broke as he said this.  _

_ All I could do was weakly nod, and quickly averted my eyes. _

_ "After all we've done together? Everything we've put up with to get this far?" The tears had finally begun leaking from his eyes, and I found my icy facade slowly melting away at the sight.  _

_ And rather than responding, I simply said to him what would be the last thing for years. "Goodbye, Brendon." _

_ His final words rang in my ears as I walked away. _

_ "Fuck you, Ryan Ross. I can't believe I ever let myself fall in love with you." _

***

**_June 2016_ **

"It's been a while." His dark hair was falling across his forehead and there were dark bags under his eyes, but he was still a familiar sight. He looked older than the last time I had seen him; there were more lines in his face, showing the stress he had endured over the years. It showed why I left the band. Why I hadn't wanted to endure that stress. After all this time, I had nearly convinced myself that was the only reason I left.

"I know." I found myself responding, a small smile lighting my lips. It had been over six months since I had last seen him in person, and even then we had only spoken briefly. The pain was still evident. It may not have been the same for him, but it still felt fresh for me. I couldn't stand losing my best friend, even if I knew it was entirely my fault.

"After seven years, I would think that our first true encounter would entail more than you just agreeing with everything I say. But I guess that's an improvement, considering you obviously didn't agree with me seven years ago when you decided it would be the greatest fucking idea ever to leave the band. Behind my fucking back." His voice was bitter, though laced with many other emotions. Seven years ago, they would have been easily identifiable. Now, it seemed as if he was a different version of himself. In an underlying way, he was still the Brendon I had known all those years ago--a matured version of my former best friend. A version of himself who had seen plenty of hardship in the years since we were separated. Knowing this, and knowing that I was unable to be there for him throughout that pain, seemed to break my heart all over again. 

Though, as I had begun to learn, my internal feelings were almost never aligned with the words I allowed to escape my mouth. Because I had seen the same amount, if not more, pain than the man in front of me had. I was constantly in defense mode, and he seemed to be the same way.

"Brendon, I've explained this to you plenty of times. I don't have to explain it to you again." My voice remained calm, which shocked me. The way his name slid so easily off my tongue after all these years was almost a reassurance.

"Really, Ryan?" My name sounded brittle escaping his mouth. "Because if I recall correctly, you've explained this to me once. Once, when you were making up bullshit excuses about 'wanting to go in different directions musically' and 'not wanting the spotlight.' And that's not to mention when you fucking dismissed my feelings, and apparently had yourself convinced that we were just fuck buddies. Fuck buddies my ass, dude." His eyes rolled as he scoffed quietly.

"I was done, Brendon. I didn't want the stress." I was lying through my teeth, but he couldn't know the truth.

"Bullshit." The word escaped his lips as part of an empty laugh, and I was suddenly scared; while I might not be able to read him anymore, it was clear he could see right through me.

"I'm not sure what other explanation you expect me to give, Brendon. I'm not obligated to tell you anything. I never was. And especially not now, after it's been so long." I didn't want to hurt him. I wanted to make him happy, unlike I had all those years ago. But I couldn't. It seemed to be inevitable that we were bound to crash and burn into a dazzling show of color when we collided, and I wouldn't be able to go through that again.

"You also weren't 'obligated' to leave, but you still did that." Brendon responded, his tone remaining stagnant and free of the hurt which had occupied it all those years ago.

"And you weren't obligated to fucking care that I left in the first place, but it seems like you've kept doing that for seven years. It's kind of pathetic, actually." I watched him visibly shake from the words, though I felt no regret. We were playing eachother's games. We were toxic for one another. We both knew it. We both knew our relationship was unhealthy, but it seemed neither of us were smart enough to stop trying.

"Shut the fuck up, Ryan. You're only saying that to hurt me. I know you by now. You only said all those things the day you left because you didn't want to let me in. It's your defense mechanism. I would know by now, since I've let it get to me way too many times before." Brendon’s tone finally wavered, but only slightly. It was almost bothersome that my words seemed to have no impact on him. They used to be like knives; now, he seemed to have built up his defenses.

"Not all of us trust people as easily as you. Some of us have gone through actual problems—”

"Oh, this bullshit again. Ryan, don't use your dad being a piece of shit as a sympathy card. Just because you've been through worse doesn't give you the right to invalidate someone else's problems." He interrupted, making my eyes widen. He seemed almost smug that he had finally said something that affected me, even if it was in only the slightest of ways. It made me feel strangely vulnerable, and as if our roles had suddenly been reversed. It seemed he had taken control of the situation, and I was suddenly at a loss.

We had been sitting across from one another the entire time, avoiding eye contact. Why had I let Spencer convince me to come to his wedding? We hadn't spoken in years. But now, here I was. I stupidly followed Brendon home because he wanted to speak with me. All because I was desperate to reconcile a relationship which should have ended for good seven years ago.

We were sat at his kitchen table in the almost dark. A single lamp was on, casting a dim light across his face from the living room. He looked gorgeous in this lighting, though I would never admit it aloud. Not now.

I remained silent, letting him have the final word. His eyes widened in shock and, for the first time in years, he made eye contact with me.

"Did I just get Ryan Ross to let me have the last word? Who even are you anymore? If you were still in Panic! you would be making up some bullshit excuse as to why you're right by now. Usually I'm the one who would just give up on arguing, but here we are, seven years later, and Ryan Ross has basically admitted to being an assho—"

"There’s no use in dwelling on the past." I respond bitterly, a dry laugh escaping his lips as he shakes his head at me. "I've matured, Brendon. I'm not 22 anymore. I was still a child then. You still seem to be one, though. I guess some of us never truly become adults. Otherwise, you’d be able to accept the fact that you’ve spent the past seven years wrongly telling yourself that we were more than just friends who fucked every so often."

Brendon seemed to laugh humorlessly for entirely too long before he finally spoke again. "Fuck buddies don't sleep in bed together every night and openly fucking adore eachother. I get that you've had a rough life, alright? That still fucking sucks, and you didn't deserve it. But god fucking damn, how often do you get to play the 'woe is me' card? You had a bad life, we get it, but that isn't an excuse to treat other people like shit. To make assumptions about other people's feelings based on nothing but what your fight or flight instinct is telling you to do. And you’ve really got fucking nerve telling me that I’m immature, considering you can’t even handle telling me the truth about why you left the band behind my back.”

His words achieve their intent as they impacted me greatly. I found myself sputtering weakly in response. "I told myself that I would never let you know why I really left, Brendon. I'm not going to do it now just because it's been seven years and we're being assholes to eachother." I attempted to take on his same icy facade, and it worked greatly. He blinked, a sudden vulnerability present on his face, and I had to stop a smirk from forming on my face.

"Ryan, for fuck’s sake! It's been seven years. Why the hell does it still matter? At least give me that. Tell me why this reason matters, seven years later." He was growing angrier by the minute, and that could be told by simply his posture. His hands were clenched tightly into fists, and you could almost hear his teeth grinding. I had only seen him this angry once before, and that was when Jon and I had announced our departure from the band. But even then, I'm not sure he was this agitated. Then, he was upset and angry. He was a mix of bubbling emotions, ready to explode at any minute. Now, he was simply angry. Tired of my games. Tired of me being so difficult.

"It does matter, Brendon. The reason I left still matters because it's still true for me." I let out angrily, finding myself almost seething as I said this. 

That was when he stood up, coming around the table and walking closer to me. We were only inches apart. I could feel the slightest hint of his breath on my face, and I found myself looking towards the floor.

"It would only still matter if it was the reason I think that you left.” His voice was more of a breath, soft and gentle. His eyes were glued to my face, though I couldn’t find it in myself to look at him. If I did, I would no longer fear the inevitable. The inevitable would happen, and I would be forced to fear the reality.

I couldn’t seem to find my voice. I was finally at a loss for words. I was shocked that Brendon had yet to comment on my silence. I would never let him have the last word. I was an indignant bastard.

I finally found it in me to raise my eyes, only to find him staring at my mouth. The confusion was evident, but I could only stare hopelessly at his eyes and the direction they were facing.

"You don't know what true pain is, Bren." I whispered softly, stopping my hand that was making its way to his face. I longed to caress my fingers gently across his cheek; to feel him, to hold him, to make this all seem more real. "I've felt it ever since I made the idiotic decision to leave."

"Ryan, you chose to leave. I felt pain for years. Hell, I wrote all of  _ Vices & Virtues _ about the band breaking up. About  _ us _ breaking up. You’re doing that thing again where you keep invalidating how I feel as a defense mechanism." Brendon's tone was harsh as he avoided eye contact, and suddenly I felt that I was at my most vulnerable. The feeling of someone knowing your reactions and mannerisms inside and out was terrifying, and something I was entirely unfamiliar with.

"Just because I chose to do it doesn't mean I enjoyed doing it. I've felt horrible most days since. I've regretted what I've done. Had to feel the agony every day. And to see that you've continued on when I couldn't? That you've released three fucking albums, mostly written by you, since I left? It makes me so damn proud of you, Bren." The nickname hurt as it rolled off my tongue, something I hadn’t dared call him in years. Since we had spoken after my departure, we had stuck to formal greetings. There was no "Ry," "Ryro," "Ross," or anything else I had previously been called. I was just Ryan, same as Brendon was just Brendon.

"But it's still not enough." Brendon whispered in response, sending shivers down my spine.

"What are you talking about?" I found myself acting confused, though we both were highly aware of what he was talking about.

"Look me in my eyes and tell me that you didn’t leave because you were scared that you had fallen in love with me." And there it was: the truth, hanging in front of my face after all these years. His voice laid bare the feelings he had held back for all these years, and everything I ever wanted seemed to be waiting for me. His hands were suddenly cupping my face, his eyes boring deeply into mine, and I'm forced to face the reality. The inevitable was happening. We were close. His breath was perfectly brushing my face, keeping me grounded to the reality. This was happening. It wasn't a dream. It was entirely real. 

“Tell me that you don’t still love me, and I’ll walk away for good.” His voice finally broke as he closed his eyes tightly, and in that moment I knew there was only one way I could respond.

“You know I can’t do that, Bren.” My voice cracked, and it felt as if the dam had finally broken.

And then, it was everything.

His lips were soft. They covered mine lightly, in an almost dream-like manner, and his arms soon found their way around my waist as he climbed into my lap. The years of hidden feelings and tension were finally breaking from their cage, and all of our hate, lust, envy, malice, love, passion, everything, was expressed into this simple kiss as it suddenly got deeper. 

I knew that the right thing was to pull away, but I couldn't find it within myself. My last relationship had ended months ago. So had his. There was nothing standing between us aside from our own pride.

But I still couldn’t. Even with nothing stopping us, I couldn’t find it in myself to continue this. I didn't want to hurt him again. I didn’t want to suffer again. I didn't want to be the one who's left behind this time. I didn’t want to be put through that pain, nor did I want to be the one to put him through it again.

So I found myself pulling away, and pushing him off of me. He had leaned against the counter beside us, his eyes almost fiery as he looked hopelessly in my direction. His pupils were blown wide. I expected a look of anger, but I only found one of loneliness in his expression. He looked lost, and as if he had no idea why I pulled away.

"I still can't do this." I was finally able to find my voice, though his look was penetrating. He knew that there was nothing stopping us except my own fear.

"Yes you can. You're choosing not to." He slowly inched toward me, and I found myself standing. Even though I was taller, the height advantage didn’t make me feel any better. It felt as if I had already managed to get myself wrapped around his finger all over again.

"I think I should get going." I could see the front door from where I was standing. His apartment was small, and it almost felt suffocating in that moment.

"Seven years ago, when you left the band, we were in love. You were scared, and you didn't want to admit it." I looked to the ground, and I desperately searched for an escape from the inevitable. This time, there wasn’t one. Brendon wasn't going to let me leave. "I was never dumb enough to believe the lies you told me. You flew across the fucking country to spend time with me, Ryan! You left your girlfriend alone, in the middle of the night, on your birthday. Which she had gone out of her way to be there for. Yet you left without telling her to fly across the country in the middle of the night to be with me. Then we went on an epic date all across Seattle, and I rode you in a dirty ass motel that we found to avoid getting recognized. And that’s not even mentioning that after that, you wrote an entire fucking son—“

"I don't love you. I never did. Not like that." I've immediately jumped back into the denial I had been in for years, even though my mind was screaming for me to tell him. To tell him that after seven years, I was still in love with him. To admit to why I left in the first place.

"You're a fucking liar, Ross." And now his laughter was true, and that was what terrified me the most.

Finally, he was off his high, and his eyes remained serious as a small smirk lit up his face. "You saying you were never in love with me is the funniest joke I've ever heard." And the atmosphere was back to being deadly serious as I stared beyond Brendon to the door.

"Let me leave." It was the only words I could get out as my breath became shallow. I was beginning to feel trapped, torn open, and that was igniting my panic.

"I'm not letting you leave me again, Ryan." And then he reached for me, trying to lay a hand on my shoulder, but I instantly backed away from his touch. I couldn't let this happen again, even though my heart felt as if it was going to fly from my chest due to the looks he was giving me.

Then I was slowly backing away, and he was slowly inching toward me. The inevitable was once again approaching, and everything I had been unable to accept for years was finally catching up to me. Brendon and I always found our way back to eachother; I should've known, even at the time of leaving, that we would encounter eachother again. We were drawn to one another like magnets, even if we continued to taint our emotions by letting our toxic hearts collide.

Despite this thought, my back was hitting the wall, and he hadn’t stopped his advancing. My breath was uneven as he continued forward, placing his hands on the wall on opposite sides of my face, dangerously close to brushing my face with his fingertips. 

And then his forehead was placed against mine, and both of our eyelids were shut. This moment seemed almost too intimate for us. This was the sharing of sensuality between lovers; this was something we were not. We were exchanging so many unspoken words through simple body contact, and I knew that neither of us would be able to hold back much longer. In this assumption, I was correct.

The kiss expressed more than any words ever could. Everything that I would never be able to say, everything that would never be spoken aloud. Everything that always was, but was never established aloud. The years of tension falling away. The words I was never able to say aloud. 

All the unspoken  _ I love you _ 's exchanged through longing glances across a stage. All the unspoken want expressed through stolen kisses in the early morning light. All of the unspoken admiration expressed through featherlight kisses pressed along shoulders, necks, inner thighs.

Everything that had happened between us over the years was finally turning into this moment: the moment where one simple gesture was an admittance to all.

It seemed that all too soon he was pulling away, though this time I didn’t wish to leave. I wanted to stay. I wanted things to go how they should've gone the first time.

And as our heavy breathing filled the silence of his apartment, I felt him lean further into me. His forehead was against my shoulder, and soon his arms were being wrapped around my neck. Mine found their way around his waist, and we were pulling eachother closer. We were pulled flush against eachother, but neither of us had a care in the world. That moment was all that mattered. A simple hope that the future could be better for us.

And after seven years, I finally allowed the words to escape my mouth in a low whisper. "I'm sorry."

And though we both knew it would never be enough, it was enough for the now. We must only live in the moment instead of letting what we fear for the future get in our way.

Moving forward, things would be difficult. We would have to address that we tended to intentionally pick fights with one another, while also dealing with getting to know eachother as the mature individuals both of us have become without being toxic. The future between us seemed daunting.

Though, as we clutched eachother impossibly tighter, the future somehow managed to seem slightly less terrifying. In the next words he spoke, I found the closure I’ve been searching for.

"Thank you."

Maybe our hope could be enough after all. Anything seemed possible as long as I could face it with you.

**Author's Note:**

> i like to think that the next day spencer texted brendon and was like “i’m the reason you finally got some 😎😎 [emoji w sunglasses if it doesn’t show up]” and bren and ryan just let him think that so that he wouldn’t tease them for basically bullying eachother and then making out before deciding they needed to slow down this time around. no sleeping together on the first night back together here. sorry for all you hopefuls.
> 
> anyways. i hope you enjoyed 13-year-old me’s trip in self-indulgence that has now been heavily edited by 17-year-old me. there was a sequel in the works for this one shot at one point, but it never happened and i doubt it ever will. imagine they work their shit out and everything is sunshine and happiness. 
> 
> also i don’t endorse brendon these days as he’s a bit problematic, so this is my fictional unassociated less problematic version of him. anyways stan our unproblematic king ryan ross!


End file.
